Chained
by Kubota
Summary: The second-born shall bring honor and glory, mid-day brings forth heat and well-being; but as the sun dies in the west, the last-born shall bring the downfall of the family" -Oracle ....after reading, please R&R! I don't mind constructive criticism, so i
1. Capture and Betrayal

Chained  
  
This story came from a dream. Always follow your dreams...other than that one where you're at school in your underwear. That would not be good.  
  
~~))~~  
  
One: Capture and Betrayal  
  
Kaiba0302: First fic to be posted on FF.net!! Yay! (Gods, this better work...)...  
  
****  
  
Hard rain lashed through the open windows, soaking the sheer curtains. The clock on the mantle was blinking, repeatedly bathing the room in a soft, yet short-lived, red glow. Lightning flashed brightly, followed swiftly by a sharp crack of thunder, which echoed before dying away, like the low growls of a caged animal. The flash illuminated the entire room.  
  
Including him.  
  
With sleek, dusky-gold flesh bare to the waist; tight, black, cargo pants slung low across dark, shapely hips; Marik Ishtar was a somewhat imposing figure. He sat upon the edge of the couch, resting his elbows on his knees. His head was lowered; long, thick, flaxen hair spilling into his eyes and over his tanned, firm shoulders. Another blinding flash of lightning lit the room; his lavender, black-rimmed eyes glittering brightly, throwing the deep shadows on his angular face into sharp contrast.   
  
Slowly he moved a long slender-fingered hand to his right leg, fingering the black handle of a large hunting knife strapped to the inside of his thigh. He drew it from the sheath, gazing at it in the shallow glow of the blinking clock. The handle was polished cherry wood, with intricately carved hieroglyphs spiraling upwards from the hilt. The blade was of stainless steel, unmarred by wear or blood. For the time being.  
  
He had first felt it when he was letting himself into his apartment earlier that evening, before it started raining. As he turned the key in the lock, he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, an icy chill running the length of his spine. Someone was watching him. He turned silently and gazed into the darkness beyond the circle of light he stood in, unblinking, hoping his stalker, or stalkers, might make a mistake; reveal their position. When nothing stirred, he continued working the lock, before swiftly stepping inside and closing the door behind him. He was also sure to fasten the deadbolt.  
  
He gripped the knife harder. Unconciously, he knew that they were watching him, whoever they were. He knew that they would come for him. He ran his thumb up the edge of the freshly-sharpened blade, hissing in morbid satisfaction as it pierced his skin. Though this was not its first taste of blood, or last, the blade flickered as if pleased.  
  
Blood rolled lazily down the edge of the knife, one beautiful crimson drop hanging, suspended, from the tip. Marik brought it slowly to his lips before taking it into his mouth, running the tip of his tongue lightly up and down the sharpened edge. He closed his eyes as the coppery taste of his life force made itself known to him, ensnaring and honing his senses. Quivering slightly, he withdrew the blade from his mouth, sheathing it with a wavering hand.  
  
He settled back into the couch, black leather caressing brazen flesh. He rested his hand on his thigh, fingertips grazing the hilt of his knife. Several stray drops of blood trailed down the sheath.  
  
"Come and get me."  
  
****  
  
A slight metallic clicking worked its way into Marik's senses, pulling him from the depths of his dozes. Opening his large eyes, he scanned the room, searching for the source, also noting that the rain had stopped and the full moon shone out all the brighter. Pinpricks of cold fire surrounded her face, and one particularly large band of them wove across the night sky like some unmeasureable serpent. The Milky Way. Marik stiffened and his hand strayed to the hilt of his knife as the doorknob jiggled again, clincking slightly. He came to life immediately, jerking his knife from its sheath, but instead of holding it by the handle, he flipped it around deftly and gripped it by the tip of the blade, in a throwing position.  
  
He held his breath as with a final, louder click, the doorknob turned, squeaking slightly. THe door to his apartment swung open slowly. A small pool of shallow light from outside gathered. He could hear the muffled whispers of several people. He adjusted his grip on the knife tip as a large, black, leather boot was placed inside the doorway, clunking heavily. There was a pause before the limb's owner continued to make his way stealthily inside, closely followed by his companions.  
  
Marik pulled his body up to its full potential height, forcibly tightening the muscles of his shoulders and allowing his chest to expand. He smirked to himself. Sometimes people just needed a little extra motivation. "Ever heard of knocking?" he asked in a mocking tone, forcing his voice to deepen threateningly.  
  
He chuckled grimly when his would-be captors started in confusion and fear. All but one. THis one, obviously the leader, stepped forward. He was robed all in black, a cloth over his face covering everything but his eyes. "Where you planning on inviting us in?" he asked, matching Marik's insolent tone.  
  
Marik raised an eyebrow. "I wasn't; no." He gazed into the cold emotionless eyes, and though he refused to acknowledge the feeling, they haunted him. They were frigid and black, like stones never before exposed to the sunlight or wind.  
  
With a swift motion Marik rose from the couch, shifting his hand so that his attackers could not see the knife he held clutched within it. The entire group made a move for him. The leader held back. In one fluid movement, the knife left his hand. There was a sickening, wet, tearing sound as the knife was buried to the hilt in the throat of one of his attackers. He turned and lunged smoothly over the couch, lithe body twisting and contracting. He landed, cat-like, on the other side and engaged the remaining six.  
  
The leader watched, eyes expressionless, as Marik continued to dominate the brawl. He remembered Master Marik well, swift and deadly as a bolt of lightning, cold and beautiful as a blade. A steel magnolia; wrought of determination and strength, and giving off a scent of betrayal. The leader stooped and, pressing a boot heel to cold flesh, ripped the knife from the throat of the dead servant. Quickly and silently as death he made his way towards the occupied Marik.  
  
Marik's breath was becoming ragged. He didn't know how much longer he could keep up his part. The persistent bastards just kept coming back for more. Suddenly a blinding pain ripped up his arm into his shoulder. He arched and cried out involuntarily. Turning, he met the chilling eyes of the leader. He could feel the blood welling to the surface of the wound and splashing down his arm and side, hot and sticky. He ripped his own knife from his arm and lunged blindly, desperately swinging his fist into the nose of one of his attackers, relishing the scream of pain that arose. A fist drove mercilessly upwards into his stomach, bruising his ribcage and knocking the wind out of him. He sank to his knees, black kneading the edges of his vision as a foot connected with the side of his head. He slumped to the floor, spent and defeated. He could feel blood trickling out of his ear, soaking into the carpet. Blood coming out of one's ear was not good.  
  
He knew that it was over. There was no hope; nothing he could do to stop it. He could feel the merciless beating, but it felt more as if he was watching from far off. It took every ounce of his will to keep the darkness from taking him.  
  
Suddenly he was roughly flipped onto his back. He found himself gazing into those cold stones of eyes once more. In desperation he made a swipe at the leader's face. The cloth covering it fell away, and he gave a gasp, low in his throat, as he looked into the face of a former Rare Hunter.  
  
"Ogano," Marik breathed, "You too?" before the darkness took him.  
  
~~))~~ 


	2. Promises Made

Chapter Two: Promises Made  
  
Kaiba0302: Okay, this chapter is NOT, I repeat, NOT yaoi/ shounen ai!!! Just sweet! Got it?! SWEET!!!!! *sadistic look...oh wait, I always look like that. Heh, silly me^^.*  
  
****  
  
Warm fog from the hot shower misted the mirror, turning the pile of leather clothing on the counter into a twisted black and silver mass. The shower curtain was fully closed, trapping most of the intoxicatingly close heat within. Yugi Moto basked within it. The moist air was so warm it felt as if he wasn't breathing. Water ran the length of his neck and over his shoulders, traveling down flaring hips to long, straight thighs; soothing away another exhausting day's worth of anxiety. Water beaded on the upper of his slightly parted lips as he closed his eyes and tilted his head back, allowing his hair to dampen. Several soap suds, lost on their journey to the shower floor, were stranded on the firm satin flesh of his stomach, but he set them on their way with a splash of water from his hand.  
  
A close, warm presence that was not the water's heat came to him, and he smiled, allowing it to engulf him. Somehow, though he was extremely modest about his body, he did not mind this feeling of someone else being in the shower with him; in fact, he rather enjoyed the silent company of his Yami at the moment. He reluctantly admitted to himself that Yami was the only one who would ever see him this way, until the day that his soulmate made herself known. Yugi ran a long-fingered hand up and down the soft moonlight flesh of his throat, clearing the soap suds away. He could feel his Yami's aura sorrounding him, sense his restfulness, and it calmed him; though in the deepest recesses of his mind, he knew that his Yami did not even feel the heat of the water.  
  
Yugi, reaching consumation, shut off the water, and as it slowed to a trickle, grabbed a towel from the rack. He swiftly cocooned himself within it, wrapping it around his back and under each slender arm. He pulled the curtain back and stepped neatly out of the shower, taking special precautions to not slide on the wet tile. He opened the door to the bathroom and turned off the light, being sure to grab his clothes on the way out. Clutching his clothes under one arm, he strode quickly down the hall to his bedroom, fumbling with the knob slightly before opening the door and letting himself in, before shutting it swiftly behind himself. It just didn't feel right walking around the game shop in a bath towel. Once the door was firmly closed, he shed the towel as if it were no more than an old coat. It slithered down his slender, shapely body and settled in a pool around his ankles. Stepping out of his towel, he walked almost daintily to the closet, hips swinging fluidly with each step. A sharp flavor of amusement flickered across the mental link he shared with Yami.  
  
// "Not very modest are we, little one?"//  
  
/ "Oh, shut up, Yami..."/  
  
He smiled as Yami's deep, rich laugh filled his mind. He grabbed a white T-shirt and a pair of black boxers and unceremoniously put them on.   
  
/ "There, is that better, Mr. Modest?" /  
  
Yami's voice came to him, carrying a mischievious tone. //"Well, yes, actually, it is, though I DO fancy a nice breeze around--" //  
  
Yugi interrupted swiftly. / "I see, Yami. Is THAT why you wore skirts back in your time?" /   
  
Yugi laughed at Yami's moody silence and sidled over to the mirror. He grabbed a comb and began to gently pull snarls out of the spun gold that framed his face. Suddenly he felt cold, as if his very core had frozen. His Yami's aura was gone.  
  
/ "Yami?" /  
  
Yugi put the comb down, confused. He turned his head this way and that, trying to sense his Yami, to lock on. Suddenly it dawned on him. 'Of course; the soul room,' he thought. He moved to the bed and sat down for a moment, before his eyes glazed and his head hung low as he entered the winding corridors of his mind.  
  
****  
  
Yugi opened his eyes slowly. He was in his soul room, sprawled out on the bed. He swung his legs off and stood quickly. Making his way around piles of toys and unfinished puzzles, he reached the door to his soul room, and with a slight tug, pulled it open. He stepped out into the hallway, which were strangly misty. It was hard to tell the exact color, as it appeared to be changing every couple of seconds. Directly across the hall was Yami's soul room. The walls surrounding the door did not change color, instead they remained a dark blackish-green. Almost ancient looking. Yugi mustered his courage and approached the door to the spirit's soul room. He had never before entered his other's soul room, and wasn't sure how he would take it. He gazed up at the dark door, and the Eye of Horus looked back. Heart pounding against his ribs, Yugi gripped the intricately carved handle of the door and pulled hard; and the door to a new world opened with it.  
  
****  
  
Yami glanced up at the sound of his soul room door creaking open. He tensed, but forced himself to relax; after all, it was only Yugi. He had known that Yugi would come to him, but all the same, he was shocked when it happened.   
  
Yugi peeked into the room, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the murky darkness. He saw the vague outline of his Yami, standing in the middle of the empty room, but wasn't able to tell whether he was facing him or not. He took several deliberate steps towards Yami, then stopped, judging him. Yami hadn't moved. Yugi resumed walking. When he reached Yami, he wrapped his arms around the spirit's waist and buried his face in what turned out to be the small of his back. Slowly Yami turned to face him, and Yugi rested his cheek against the dark one's flat stomach. "What's wrong, Yami?" Yugi asked him gently, running his fingers in soothing circular patterns on his back.  
  
"Nothing is wrong, little one," Yami's voice answered him from somewhere overhead. There was a long pause before the spirit spoke again. "Do you have any idea what I would give for what you have?"  
  
The question took Yugi by surprise. "What?" he asked, removing his cheek from his other's stomach and looking up into the shadowed face. "What do you mean?"  
  
Yami's voice was wistful. "The one thing that I want more than anything else is something so priceless, no amount of money can pay for it, no amount of sacrifice..." The spirit's voice trailed off.  
  
"Love?" Yugi guessed helplessly. This conversation was totally beyond him.  
  
He sensed the spirit's eyes upon him. "Life," came the reply.  
  
Yugi gazed up at his other, eyebrows furrowed. "I...I don't understand you, Yami. Stop speaking in riddles!"  
  
Yami looked at the smaller version of himself again. "Would you have my plain answer?"  
  
"I would."  
  
Yami sighed. "Then I say to you, Yugi, that the one thing I desire more than anything else, but cannot obtain, is life. Yes, it is true that through you I can have what some might consider "life", but in theory life is not life until it is lived."  
  
Yugi sighed. "Speak plainer, Yami." He suddenly felt the spirit pull away from him and take several steps, before stopping and turning to face him.  
  
"Some of the simplest things in life are what make it sweet," Yami said. "A soft autumn morning, with dew drops still wet in the grass, before the birds have started to tell the world the latest gossip and what the sun has seen on her travels? A simple breeze, or maybe just getting caught in the rain, those are the little things that make life worth living." Yami paused. "Or maybe even, just watching the moon rise and all the stars flickering in greeting, old friends who know the ritual by heart; sometimes it is the simple that makes life such a wonderful gift."  
  
Yugi felt tears come to his eyes, though he knew not why. "Yami...." He started, "I'm sorry, Yami..." And he moved again to his Yami, bringing his arms up to touch his face. Yami leaned into the touch slightly. Yugi's eyes widened and he moved his other hand to his Yami's cheek. "Yami, you're so cold..." Yami's flesh was frozen; almost like marble.  
  
Yami smiled, but it was distant. "It is all a part of my fate. Life is what I desire, but it is something I cannot have. I will never again, in all eternity, stand with my face in the wind, or so much as enjoy a simple mysterious glimpse of a full moon, so I must content myself with helping you grow and learn..." Yami touched Yugi's cheek gently, "I do not wish you to be resigned the same fate as I. Enjoy the little things in life, my little Yugi, for they may actually be the honey caught in the sieve."  
  
Yugi wrapped his arms around his other once more. He raised his head and looked into the spirit's eyes. "Would you like to sleep outside the Puzzle tonight?"  
  
Yami paused before nodding. "Darkness is my fate little one. But for even just one night like this, away from the dark, away from the cold...LIVING for just a little while...yes, little one. I would like that.  
  
Yugi smiled, blinking away tears. "Okay, Yami."  
  
****  
  
All at once Yugi was back on his bed in his room. He got up and turned the light off, before making his way back to the bed. He pulled the covers down before crawling into the soft recesses slowly, pulling the blankets up around himself as he did so. He felt his Yami's presence all around him, and he embraced it with all the brotherly love and friendship he could. He felt the spirit return it, with so much force it made him gasp for breath.  
  
// "I promise that as long as I am resigned to this fate, I will never let anything hurt you again, little one." //  
  
/ "And I promise that you will live again, Yami. Maybe not physically..... but sometimes it isn't physicality that makes us people."/  
  
Yami's presence became warm. He was surprised by Yugi's insight. // "Thank you, little one..."//  
  
Yugi smiled and turned his head, and was met by the sight of a full moon rising over Domino City. 'All the stars flickering in greeting...' he thought drowsily. He turned his attention back to the aura of his Yami. "Yami, even if it is only for a moment...come. Look at the moon, with all of her friends, and live for a moment. Just be a person."  
  
*****  
  
Kaiba0302: Uh....right, then, that was...fun. Please R&R! If you flame me, though, I will just look at the flames and think about how sweet they make life...in some sick, twisted sort of sense^^. 


	3. Arvad

Chapter Three: Arvad  
  
Kaiba0302: Okay. Chapter three. The main villain guy of this fic, Arvad, makes his appearance. Simply, he's a real bad-ass who has some interesting secrets...By the way, are any of you planning on reviewing?  
  
~~((~~  
  
Marik opened his eyes to a world of darkness and pain. Groaning, he closed them again, but it only served to intensify the pain. Slowly he forced them open again and allowed them to wander down his form. His entire body screamed in agony. Several large bruises had formed on his chest and sides, marring the perfect shade of gold with purple and black. Two long cuts extended the length of his torso on either side and stopped just above the waistband of his pants. Well, that was one less thing to worry about... Viciously biting back another moan of pain, he struggled onto his side. It was then that he realized that there was a shackle on one of his ankles, chaining him firmly to a wall. Marik attempted to sit up, sending his nerves into convulsions of agony. With a start and rising fear he realized that he was almost completely unable to move. He realized that he had been drugged. He looked about at his surroundings from his position on the floor. He appeared to be in a cell of some sort. The walls were old oven-baked bricks, stacked evenly and overlaid with plaster. He would never be able to break through. He managed to turn his head, pressin ghis face against the ground, when it came against the flesh of his right eye. Pain exploded in his head. He reeled for a moment before gingerly turning away from the offensive surface. A black eye had formed. Great. Just great.  
  
Suddenly he felt something cold and wet being pressed against his shoulder. With a snarl he convulsed against the burning cold, and suddenly found himself thrown backwards onto the floor of the cell with three football player-sized men on top of him, holding him down. "You shouldn't scorn pity that is the gift of a gentle heart," A voice from somewhere above said to him. Marik snapped viciously at a hand that was positioned conveniently close to his mouth, sharp teeth closing on the palm of one of his captors. There was a scream of pain as he tore into the offending hand, foreign blood filling his mouth and gushing down his heaving throat. The hand was ripped away, leaving behind a bloody strip of flesh hanging from between Marik's teeth. The mutilated hand was raised to strike--  
  
There was a sickening thud and a fresh howl of pain from the owner of the ruined appendige as am intricately carved knife whirred through the air and impaled it against one of the walls. A surprisingly calm male voice said, "That's enough," and Marik recognized it as the one who had spoken moments before. The newcomer entered the cell with the air of a king, walking fluidly to the panting bleeding man still nailed to the wall, and with surprising strength, wrenched the knife from the hand of his servant. Ignoring the shriek of pain that resounded, he turned and looked at the two fit men. His eyes were cold. "Leave us." The two servants nodded and, lifting their still screaming companion, left the room.  
  
The stranger walked to Marik and knelt beside him. "Now then..." Marik was suddenly terrified almost to the point of insanity. What did this man want? Money? It didn't matter. He didn't have any on him, and his apartment would have surely been plundered. And if he wanted ransom, there wasn't anyone to pay it. The stranger saw the fear in Marik's eyes and laughed, though the humor did not reach his own eyes, which remained cold and calculating. "Come now, don't tell me that you don't remember me?"  
  
Marik was puzzled. He looked up into the venomous green eyes, whose shape matched his own. Long, thick, white hair framed the man's dark angular face and spilled over his shoulders, layered and ending in small points. No, he did not recognize this person at all.  
  
"My name is Arvad. Does that not ring a bell?"  
  
Marik thought, though his mind was still numb from the paralyzing drug. Arvad...yes. Why was that name familiar to him? Why...His eyes widened. No, it was impossible. Only the unimaginable...  
  
Arvad chuckled low in his throat. "You always were rash, my brother," he said, leaning back to look at Marik, "You act long before you think. The pharaoh Yami is not dim-witted."  
  
Marik stared up at his brother, still unbelieving. "How is this possible? How did you survive? You..." He shook his head in disbelief, as if the image of his long lost brother were just a mirage. "You were exiled!"   
  
Arvad closed his eyes and put his head back. The black tank that he wore couldn't hide his muscular build, falling several inches short of the hem of his tight low slung jeans, showing off a dark, firm lower stomach. A leather choker with a small silver square set in the front circled his neck. A black leather belt crossed his hips at an angle, a holster positioned on one side. The butt of a pistol protruded forbiddingly. He smiled grimly. "It is true that I was exiled, in the hopes that what the oracle told our father was true:  
  
"The second-born shall bring glory,  
  
As mid-day brings forth heat and well-being.  
  
But as the sun dies in the west,  
  
The last-born shall bring the downfall of the family."  
  
Arvad lowered his head, hiding his eyes with his long white hair. "You, my brother, were the second born, supposedly the one to bring glory to the family. It was obvious that I would be the last, being as our mother was becoming too old to birth children." Arved smirked. "And aside from the fact that she died giving birth to me."  
  
Marik tensed.  
  
Arvad continued. "So you see my brother, that you were rash in your attempts to obtain the pharaohnic power? Glory was not won, nor is it easily won. As the chosen one, the Pharaoh's Will was engraved onto your back by our father, as I'm sure you very well know." Arvad's eyes glittered. "But I...I, being exiled, was unable to discover the secrets to claiming the pharaoh's power. All I need from you is a bit of cooperation."  
  
"You will get no such thing from me!" Marik snarled. He could feel his anger rising. Suddenly his mind was flooded with memories of his brother; innocent and pure as morning sunlight, and he wondered briefly, 'Arvad, what has happened to you?'  
  
Arvad smirked again. "I see you wonder about how I survived?"  
  
"I don't care!"  
  
Arvad continued as if he hadn't heard. "As you know, one who is exiled is simply disowned by the family and left to wander the endless seas of sand, reeling with blind hunger and thirst, before finally lying down and succumbing to the darkness. I managed to find my way to an oasis where I stayed for what seemed like weeks." Arvad paused. "Some time later, a small company of rogue warriors passed through. And found me. My appearance was new to them; they were especially enthralled by my white hair." Arvad closed his eyes and smiled, as if reliving some long forgotten bitter-sweet memory. "Thinking that I was some sort of god in disguise, they took me under their wings. I taught them to make better weapons, and about herbal remedies. In return..." Arvad opened his eyes and gazed piercingly into Marik's. "They taught me to kill."  
  
Marik was silent.  
  
Arvad's eyes clouded as he seemingly gazed into nothing. "I still have a chance, brother," he turned back to Marik, "To earn honor for our family name. I will myself claim Yami's pharaohnic power, and the Ishtar name will once again be renowned!"  
  
Marik's lip curled. "How exactly do you plan on achieving all of this, dear brother?" A biting undertone of sarcasm laced his voice.  
  
Arvad looked into his eyes. "With a little cooperation from you," he said softly, eyes glinting.  
  
Marik shuddered.  
  
*****  
  
Arvad strode swiftly from the cell, ignoring his brother's fresh groans of pain. He had left him after forcefully making him submit to having his back deciphered. He walked down a corridor then turned left into another, this one lined on either side with doors which opened so many more options. It would be easy to get lost in here. Arvad smirked. he knew his way around very well. He entered a large room, lit with numerous torches placed at regular intervals on the walls. All of the lightbulbs had burned out or been broken. Boxes, old and new, cardboard and metal, littered the concrete floor. On the far side of the room, towering electric doors stood forbiddingly, pullies and ropes attached to each like some bizarre type of IV tubes.  
  
A male voice called out to him from the shadows. "Master Arvad?"  
  
Arvad chuckled softly. "I see you there, Ogano. Speak!"  
  
The shadowed figure emerged from the darkest recesses of the room, allowing light to fall upon him. Ogano's face was young, umarred by scars or age. His black robes concealed a tall, lean, well-built figure. Deep sea-foam grey eyes glittered under a small band of gold resting at his temples. The Eye of Horus peered out from the center of his forehead, gleaming silver. He was Arvad's most cunning, and deadly, servant. "I am assuming that everything was achieved?"  
  
"Yes, everything went according to plan," Arvad replied shortly. He was in no mood for idle bantering. Subduing Marik physically had been difficult. Even after the necessary precautions with paralyzing drugs, Marik was still as swift as a snake. And just as enchanting as one. But his poison was subtle. He would weave back and forth, thread one's mind with the drugging effects of intrigue and mystery, before striking cold-heartedly, over and over and over...  
  
Ogano nodded respectfully. "That is good. You are very...persuasive..." They both chuckled as if sharing an inside joke. Ogano spoke again. "Do you still plan on making a move for Shadi?"  
  
Arvad nodded stiffly. His eyes narrowed at the thought of the solemn-eyed protector of the Items. "Yes. He is still an essential part of my plans."   
  
"And when might you plan on doing so?"  
  
"In my own time, Ogano!"  
  
"Of course, Master..." Ogano bowed low in apology. "But do you plan on doing this yourself?"  
  
Arvad thought deeply. "Yes," he said a moment later. "Can't have you taking all the fun, can we?"   
  
Ogano chuckled grimly. "No we can't."  
  
Arvad smirked. "You are always able to tell me exactly what I want to hear, my servant." His eyes glinted like moonlight off a blade, the deadly light passing lightly over Ogano's features.  
  
Ogano tensed but forced himself to relax. For Arvad to see a sign of weakness or fear would be like giving a mouse a cookie. 'If you give a mouse a cookie, he'll want a glass of milk,' he thought grimly. "Master...what shall we do about Marik?"  
  
Arvad gazed at him, eyes searching. "Keep him here. We can't let him get away. He might alert Yami, or Shadi, as to our movements." Arvad's eyes narrowed. "Am I correct in saying that your loyalties lie with me, Ogano, and no longer with Marik?"  
  
Ogano lowered his eyes. "Yes, Master Arvad," he said softly.  
  
Arvad's lip curled. "Good. Keep it that way. You are mine now." With that he Turned briskly and strode forth from the room. Ogano watched him go, mixed feelings churning in his mind. Old loyalties wakened with a flame. He knew in his heart that the sun had gone down on both Arvad and Marik, but for Marik there was still hope. In the back of his mind he knew that if Marik expired, there would be no dawn.  
  
****  
  
Kaiba0302: Well, that was fun^^! Uh, please R&R? *Begins designing a flame-proof body suit* 


End file.
